


Unintended Consequences

by EledoneCirrhosa



Series: The Founding of Providence Weyr [4]
Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey
Genre: 8th Interval, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-19 04:17:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20324974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EledoneCirrhosa/pseuds/EledoneCirrhosa
Summary: The Providence Weyrleaders have to come to terms with the Impression of a blue and a green by women.





	Unintended Consequences

2065.13.28 (Turn’s End, in the Eighth Interval) – Hatching Day

“Quiet!” Weyrwoman Clionie was not one to raise her voice to exert her authority, but today a throaty bellow seemed the only way to cut across the hubbub in the Council Chambers. Everyone had an opinion on the Impression of a blue and a green by two of the Lower Caverns women who had stood as gold candidates, and everyone’s opinion seemed to be a variant on ‘But how could this have been allowed to happen?’ All of them voicing those variants again and again, louder and louder was _not _helpful.

“What’s done can’t be undone,” said Clionie. “The dragons chose. Both the hatchlings are hale and hearty.” She gave a courteous nod to Weyrlingmaster P’caro, who had reported as such a finger or two of time earlier. “They are not going to conveniently drop dead or vanish _between._ So our tasks are not to wring our hands like old aunties bemoaning the state of the world. Our tasks are to analyse why it happened, and to decide how we are to go forward from here.” 

She caught the gaze of Weyrwoman Fourth Signatha. Her Namkth would be next to clutch.

Her words brought nods from the assembled goldriders and bronzeriders. 

Weyrleader R’kent cleared his throat. “I think there is little doubt why it happened. We were all concerned about the lack of choice of candidates for this clutch. Eleven boys for six eggs was simply not enough. We thought we could get away with such a limited choice. Now it seems the dragons have proved us wrong.” He gave a wry smile.

“But to reject a boy in favour of a _girl…_” S’kelb, Wingleader of Tillek Wing couldn’t keep the disbelief out of his voice.

“Woman,” interjected Weyrwoman Second Brinna. “Both were mature women, not mere girls. And both were Searched as potential queenriders. So we considered them dragonrider material. Obviously the dragons did too.” 

S’kelb, S’newar, K’myr, Er’var and Signatha all tried to voice their agreement or disagreement with this at once.

“Yes, yes.” Clionie tapped her stylus on the table to draw their attention back to her and avoid the discussion degenerating into snarking and squabbling. “So, what are our options for preventing this at the next hatching? Next time there may not be a gold egg – and thus not any girls to fill in the gaps. Hmm?”

“The problem of too few boys is not going to go away,” said Weyrlingmaster P’caro. “Next hatching we’ll have the seven that did not Impress today, plus another one who will be of age by then. Unless we drop the minimum age.”

R’kent was nodding. This had been an on-going debate between him and P’caro for a number of months now. Clionie had been content to act as adjudicator now and then. “Remind me of the figures,” she said.

“If we take boys of fourteen Turns, we’ll have ten lads for the next hatching. If we allow boys of thirteen, that number will increase to thirteen.”

“And if we drop the age to twelve?” asked Kella, Weyrwoman Third. 

P’caro shook his head. “Twelve is too young. Their dragons would be mature and participating in mating flights before the boys were old enough to shave.”

“I concur,” said Clionie. “Twelve is too young. And our clutches seem to have reduced in size to around four to seven eggs in each. Thirteen may or may not be an adequate choice for seven hatchlings, but we can always hope for fewer eggs.” She inclined her head to Signatha, to indicate she meant no disrespect to her queen. 

“We shouldn’t count eggs before they’re clutched,” commented Er’var.

“Obviously,” relied R’kent. “But until they are sitting on the sands, we won’t know whether thirteen boys is plenty or barely adequate. And there is the future to think of. What if there are seven eggs? That would only leave six boys for the clutch after Namkth’s. What if that clutch has seven eggs too?” 

“The queens aren’t rising as frequently as they once did,” put in Brinna. “That will surely help?”

Providence’s golds were rising less than once a Turn now. 

S’newar gave a grimace. “Might be a bit of a race,” he said. “Our boys growing up versus our queens laying. Not something I’d be comfortable betting marks on…”

“Which neatly brings up another issue…” Clionie looked at P’caro. “Is reducing the age a permanent solution, or are we just delaying the problem for a Turn or two?”

“It’ll help, but there is a bigger shortfall coming eventually.” The Weyrlingmaster sighed and ran a hand through his hair in a weary gesture. 

Clionie nodded at him to continue. She had an inkling where this was leading, but best to let the others hear it in black and white from the Senior Weyrlingmaster. 

“When the Five Weyrs went forward,” P’caro began. “They took a disproportionate number of women with babes and littles with them. That was seven Turns ago, so we now have fewer children of seven to ten Turns than might be expected in a Weyr. Also… Also in the first couple of Turns we were here, with all the building and day to day chaos, our Lower Caverns women chose to have fewer babes than they might ordinarily have had.”

“But we’ve been making up for lost time since then!” S’kelb cut in with a broad smile. He was father to at least six since Providence had been founded.

“Yes, S’kelb,” said R’kent. “We’re all aware of your… contribution. But the point P’caro is trying to make is that they are all too young. Even with small clutches, we are going to run into a time when our eggs outnumber our candidates.”

“So,” said Clionie. “Possible solutions? I don’t care how outlandish they are – make suggestions. We can discuss the merits of each when we’ve heard them all.”

“You’ve heard mine,” Kella said. “Drop the qualifying age even lower. We can always raise it again once we’re past the danger period.”

“Search the Holds for boys when we run short,” suggested S’kelb. “Explain it is an emergency, and things will be back to normal in a few Turns.” That brought a few uncomfortable mutterings. 

“Could we extend the upper age limit?” asked Brinna. “I know if a boy has stood for six Turns and not Impressed he’s not very likely to, but perhaps it would be worth a try.”

R’kent and S’newar began to speak at once. The Weyrleader gestured for S’newar to go first. “Could we use timing it? Take some youngsters a few Turns back and ask Chardro Hold to foster them? Then collect them when they are all grown up.” The suggestion caused more than a few raised eyebrows.

Clionie looked at R’kent for his suggestion. He shrugged. “Allow girls to stand. Even when there is no gold egg.”

There was uproar, and even Clionie yelling for quiet didn’t calm it down. She had to ask her Ordovith to pass on a very emphatic message to tell the other dragons that their riders should _Stop talking right now! _

“Well,” she said when the racket has subsided. “I asked for outlandish ideas and I certainly got them. Now goldriders, bronzeriders, Weyrlingmaster… we shall debate this in a civilised manner, with _no_ shouting. But I think we shall do so after the Hatching and Turn’s End Feast, to give everyone time to calm down, hmm?”

# # #

It was a marvel what a cupful of strong spirits and a hearty meal could do for old bones like hers, Clionie mused. Even if the spirit in question was so fresh and raw it would probably be better put to searing Thread than to drinking. It would take Providence Hold a few more Turns to bed their moonshine down into something one drunk for pleasure rather than for the numbing buzz of alcohol, but for now she could at least pretend to enjoy the taste for Lord Eleuther’s sake. 

“Girls Impressing blues and greens. Well I never,” Lord Eleuther said, for what was probably the seventh time today.

It belatedly dawned on Clionie that he was probably wanting her to say something profound and informative in response, rather than the general bemused agreement most dragonriders were expressing at the situation.

“Shortage of boys,” she said. “Not enough choice for the hatchlings. The Weyr needs more young men than we’ve presently got to hand.”

“I quite understand,” said Lord Eleuther. There was a tone of resignation to his words.

“You do?” Clionie couldn’t quite keep the surprise out of her voice.

“Of course I do. Same problem myself!” Eleuther waved a hand to where the Weyrherder and Weyrsmith were congratulating the boy who had Impressed the single bronze of the clutch. “The Crafters are always after my youngsters for apprentices. They say the crafts can’t function as they did before until they’ve built up the knowledge and the manpower. Well that’s all very well, but I need that manpower to till my fields and build my holds. No point having crafthalls filled with apprentices, if there’s no food to put on their tables, is there, eh?”

“Quite.” Clionie hadn’t realised the lack of teenagers was endemic, not just restricted to the Weyr. 

“Been after your young ‘uns as well, have they? The crafters?” asked Lord Eleuther.

“To a certain extent,” said Clionie, in a non-committal way. The Weyrcrafters had all taken on apprentices to pass on their skills and provide Western Isle with much needed craft products, but she’d not thought to enquire as to how much that had reduced the pool of potential candidates. She must ask P’caro. Or indeed, find out how many of those apprentices had left the Weyr entirely. The Smith apprentices and journeymen, for example. The holds were crying out for Smithcraft trained people. 

“So you have no youngsters to spare?” she asked Lord Eleuther. 

“Isn’t that what I just said? No, the blasted crafters are after me for more, but they’ve had all I can spare.”

“What about Chardro Hold?”

“They’re in the same boat we are. Plenty babes and younglings underfoot, but not enough of an age to do proper work.”

“That’s unfortunate.” So it seemed that S’kelb’s idea of Searching the Holds for boys would not go down well.

“It’ll pass,” said Eleuther. “Fifteen Turns from now I’ll be up to my ears in strapping young men and not enough work to keep them all occupied. Then the crafts can have as many as they want and there will still be more to send off to carve out holds of their own. Be the same for your Weyr, no doubt.”

“No doubt,” said Clionie with a smile she didn’t feel.

# # #

They settled in the end for the most conservative solution – a combination of reducing the minimum age and raising the maximum age. The timing solution was deemed too hazardous and the female candidate solution too far outside Tradition. 

Which left the knotty problem of what to do with the two women – Helonia and Marzie – who had Impressed. At the moment their dragons were so young they did little other than eat and sleep, but nothing was going to stop them growing. Eventually they would have to be set down a path to becoming a fighting dragon… or some sort of inferior queenrider. Unless there was a third solution Clionie could not yet grasp.

“Women can’t ride fighting dragons,” S’kelb stated adamantly. Brinna looked rebellious and R’kent non-committal, but by and large the gathered wingleaders and goldriders seemed to be in agreement with S’kelb. They may all have originated in different Weyrs, but there were some Traditions dragonriders had kept for centuries, regardless of where their dragons had hatched. 

“But their dragons aren’t golds – they can chew firestone without harm,” said Brinna. “Why shouldn’t we let them?”

“Because they’re women!” S’kelb glared at the Weyrwoman Second. “They can fly with the goldriders in the Queens Wing. They simply won’t fit into a fighting wing. It would be bad for morale.”

“Fortunately there will be no Thread to fight for some four hundred and forty Turns,” remarked Clionie, before S’kelb and Brinna started spitting flames at each other. The passion with which Brinna supported the idea of women on fighting dragons came as rather a surprise to her. It was such a peculiar idea. 

“Perhaps we could train them up to be watchdragons,” suggested R’kent. “Set them on that path from the beginning.”

The idea had merit, Clionie mused. The habit of having a dragonrider permanently on station at each of the Holds had arisen in the early days of Providence Weyr as a necessary evil. It had become an indispensable way to coordinate communication and facilitate the movement of people and supplies, especially between the Southern Continent and the Western Isle. If withdrawn now, that invaluable watchdragon system would be sorely missed by Weyr and Hold alike. New halls and holds were now being proposed, each would want a watchdragon of their own to remain connected to the rest of their small subset of Pern.

“Female watchriders might not be a bad idea,” said Clionie. There had been a few unfortunate incidents with male riders chasing the girls of Chardro Hold. The Weyr might not have enough young men of an age to Impress, but they certainly had plenty in their mid-twenties, and less than a third that number of weyrbred girls of a similar age. Putting one of those young men into a hold where there were womenfolk aplenty had been asking for trouble. 

“It would save on firestone too,” observed S’newar. “Until we locate a decent deposit of it.” 

The only firestone which had so far been discovered on Western Isle was low grade ore, barely worth the effort of a dragon chewing it. That limited the amount of training which could be given to a weyrling class. 

Clionie caught R’kent’s eye and nodded to him in agreement. “Watchrider training it is then,” she said. “I’ll speak to P’caro and let him know our decision.” 

# # #

2066.03.15

Namkth’s clutch had six eggs in it and – with the addition of older boys and younger boys – a total of sixteen candidates marched out onto the sands hoping to Impress. Weyrwoman Clionie sat with Weyrleader R’kent and the Lords and their Ladies to watch the proceedings. For Clionie it was a strange mixture of memory, anticipation and a slight undercurrent of anxiety. Sixteen boys must surely be enough?

The Hatching started out auspiciously enough, with two hatchlings cracking shells simultaneously and each rushing to their chosen boy. Clionie felt a lump in her throat, remembering her own Impression of Ordovith all those Turns ago. There was then a delay before a brown hatched. She heard R’kent give a satisfied grunt as the brown hatchling picked a gangly youth who she knew to be his nephew. 

The remaining eggs hatched in short order and three wobbly hatchlings wandered up and down the line of candidates, creeling. First a blue, then a green chose their lifemate. 

The last hatchling – another green – did not. 

The little creature staggered the length of the line of boys a second time without finding what it wanted. Then it turned and headed for the spectators. 

The front row of the stands was composed of adults and ranking guests, the majority of whom were already dragonriders or far too old to Impress. For a moment Clionie thought the green might be after Lord Eleuther’s grandson, but it passed him with barely a glance. Worried muttering filled the hatching grounds. She exchanged an apprehensive look with R’kent. 

_Ordovith!_ Clionie automatically reached for her queen. 

_The little one does not find what she seeks._ Her gold’s tone was matter of fact.

She cast a desperate look about the stands. _Ordovith, tell all the riders – if there is a boy near them, get him onto the sands now! _

There was a flurry of motion as dragonriders received the message and passed it on verbally to those youngsters around them. Those of the previously rejected twelve Turn olds who happened to be in the audience, plus boys far younger were urged from their seats and down the steps to where the green creeled her distress. One boy was too eager and got clawed as the hatchling tried to push past him into the crowd of youngsters on the steps. The mortally injured boy fell sideways onto Lady Sentia of Chardro Hold, and her shrieks at the sight of his blood caused a logjam on the steps, boys unsure whether to press forward to the hatchling or give space to let healers get to the wounded boy and hysterical woman.

The dozen youngsters who had crammed together on the steps – including one boy who could not be more than six Turns old – were all found wanting by the hatchling. The little creature swung her head from side to side wildly, twisted back towards the sand and, with a piercing shriek, vanished _between._

The dragons of the Weyr raised their heads and keened.

# # #

The Hatching Feast had been a sombre affair. Lord Charadriff and Lady Sentia had not stayed for it, citing the latter’s blood-stained gown as an excuse. Clionie could hardly blame them. Knowing that the boy whose blood it was had died despite the healers’ best efforts left little to celebrate. Lord Eleuther and his family had stayed, and done their best to congratulate the new dragonpairs. But it was an evening of stilted conversations and forced smiles. No-one was sorry when all the guests decided to depart early.

Nor was Clionie sorry when Weyrleader R’kent turned up at her quarters with a jug of Providence Hold’s rotgut. It would not do for the Weyrwoman to give vent to her feelings in public, but getting blind drunk in the privacy of her own weyr seemed like a very, very good plan indeed. 

Even the hangover the next morning seemed apt. Clionie sat hunched over a mug of spiced milk in the council room, awaiting the arrival of Weyrlingmaster P’caro. Sixteen boys had not been enough. No doubt the double tragedy might influence Lord Eleuther and Lord Charadriff into accepting a Search of boys from their lands, but would that help? The Search riders might go out and only return with a lad or two. Given what Lord Eleuther had said about his own shortage of teenagers, the searchers were hardly likely to return with twenty or thirty.

Perhaps they might yet come to using S’newar’s outlandish suggestion of timing it.

_Hypnath and his rider are here. _ Ordovith informed her of P’caro’s arrival. Clionie took another gulp of her drink, and shouted down the service hatch for a fresh jug. 

“Weyrwoman.” P’caro pushed aside the hanging that led into the council chambers. He looked as haggard as she doubtless did herself. 

“Weyrlingmaster.” She gestured for him to sit. “How are the new weyrlings this morning?” 

He gave a thin smile. “All the normal first morning panics over ravenous appetites, indigestion and itchy hides. But otherwise all well. They are all healthy hatchlings, well-proportioned and confirmed sound by the senior dragonhealer.” 

“Good, good.” Clionie crossed to the service hatch in response to the rattling and rumble that heralded the arrival of the hot milk. She poured P’caro a cup and topped up her own. “The two women who Impressed the blue and green – what is your assessment of their progress?” 

P’caro huffed a little before replying. Clionie knew that it rather offended his dignity to have to deal with a female greenrider and a female bluerider. Women who would receive neither goldrider training nor fighting dragon training, but nonetheless rode dragons. However, she also trusted P’caro’s blunt honesty. Tradition and dignity aside, he would report the truth. 

“Much as expected for this stage of their training. They are neither top of the class nor lagging behind. A great deal less flighty than their classmate, goldrider Mimga, in fact.” P’caro regarded her over his mug. “Are you going to ask me to train them as fighting dragons after all?” 

Clionie shook her head. “No, not at all.” She took a deep breath. “I was going to ask what you thought of R’kent’s idea of opening all hatchings up to girls. As a temporary measure.” 

P’caro grimaced. “I’m not keen, but given the tragedy on the sands yesterday…” He looked down into his mug, as if seeking wisdom there. “I’d rather have a few more Helonias and Marzies in my next few classes than have hatchlings commit suicide. Temporary, you say?” 

A nod. “Until we are beyond our shortfall in male candidates. I’m as unnerved as you by such a large break from Tradition, but I quite frankly don’t see that we have much choice. The holders are as short of teenagers are we are, and of course we all know the weyrbred have a better chance of Impressing than the holdbred do. Not to mention the political ramifications if one of our riders Searched a close family member of either of the Lords. Ruathan blood and all that. Mimga becoming a goldrider is one thing. Spiriting away an Heir or favourite grandson to become a greenrider is quite another.” 

The Weyrlingmaster frowned. “We wouldn’t expect a Lord’s Heir to—“ 

“Wouldn’t we?” asked Clionie sharply. “If we thought the choice was between that and another hatchling going _between? _ I don’t believe I want to know the answer to that dilemma. Or to be put in the situation where I might be forced to find out.” 

“Girls, then.” P’caro shook his head wearily. “If it will save dragon lives, it looks like our only choice, doesn’t it?” 

“Do you know how many eligible women and girls there are in the Lower Caverns?” she asked. “Are there more than the thirteen who did not Impress from Ordovith’s clutch?” Sixteen women had stood for those eggs, and three had impressed. Boosting their candidates by thirteen would be a start. 

“Not offhand, no. But I can’t imagine there was anyone eligible who turned down the opportunity to stand for that gold.” 

Clionie smiled. “Unlikely, I agree.” 

A though struck her, and wiped the smile from her face. “That is always supposing those girls _want_ to stand for a clutch with no gold egg.” 

It was a sobering thought. Weyr girls dreamed of being goldriders, of being Weyrwoman. Would they be afraid to stand for a regular clutch, in case they missed out on a later chance for gold? 

P’caro had no solution to that one. 

_Ordovith, dearest – could you ask Centarth to request that his rider finds Headwoman Barca and joins us here._ She relayed the request and then explained to P’caro. “I’ve asked R’kent and Headwoman Barca to join us. We should discuss the implications of this with them and hammer out any problems it is likely to cause in the Lower Caverns before we make an official announcement.” 

He nodded, and they sipped their drinks while they waited. Clionie sought the comforting mental presence of her queen. If she had impressed a green or a blue or a brown, she would never have had glorious, golden Ordovith in her life. 

_Am I doing the right thing, dearest? Letting girls stand for hatchings when there is no gold egg? _

_The hatchlings will choose who they need to be with, _ said Ordovith placidly. 

Yes, they will, thought Clionie. They always do. 

**Author's Note:**

> Back in 2013, I and several other fanfic writers originally planned to make Providence Weyr a shared-universe writing group. Various stories - including this one - were to set up events during the Eighth Interval. This world-building was to get the Weyr the way we wanted (female riders on blue, green and brown; greens which laid eggs) for an inevitable culture clash when Providence Weyr rejoined mainstream Pernese society in the Ninth Pass.


End file.
